


Should've Done It Years Ago

by xMidnightSun



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen, in which gerrel's dad is a dick and koris saves the day by technically breaking the law
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xMidnightSun/pseuds/xMidnightSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Han'Gerrel's father never had liked him. After the mess aboard the <i>Alarai</i> and the conclusion of Tali'Zorah's trial, things finally come to a head. Takes place within the <i>Rise & Reign</i> continuity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should've Done It Years Ago

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NoisyNoiverns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoisyNoiverns/gifts).



Admiral Han’Gerrel vas _Neema_ nar _Tonbay_ was fucking exhausted.

Depressive episodes always seemed to be that way. One day he was full of energy to the point of practically ricocheting off the airlock at the start and end of every single deployment, and then the next, _boom!_ He couldn’t keep his head up, couldn’t focus worth a shit—not that he could when he was manic, either, but that was beside the point—and couldn’t bring himself to give a damn about just about anything, up to and including whether or not he’d remembered to eat that morning, whether he’d remembered to seal his gauntlets before leaving the relative safety of the _Neema_ , and, as he’d just found out a few hours ago, whether or not Son’Todor had survived being sent to the _Alarai,_ let alone Rael’Zorah.

That last bit would hit him pretty soon, he knew, though. It’d been a few hours by now, long enough for the information to finally start to sink in. Probably. Maybe. Only time would tell.

Really, he hadn’t even managed to bring himself to give a shit that Tali’Zorah was being an ableist little shit to Xen, or that Captain Shepard had somehow managed to convince Kar’Danna to allow a bloody _geth_ of all things aboard. Xen _had_ to have had a field day with _that_.

He hadn’t even managed to give a shit about Shepard and Tali bringing Todor home alive. Badly injured, delirious with infection, but alive. Rael, too. According to Shepard, they’d found him and Todor in the same general area, even, Todor blockaded in a storage closet with a few other survivors and Rael collapsed outside in a pool of blood, suit packed with that experimental biofoam he’d been working on so many years ago. Saved his life, the medics said. They’d put him in a medical coma for recovery, but he was alive. And he’d be okay.

And within the next few days, all that was going to hit with the approximate force of a rampaging krogan. But right now, he just felt kinda numb, and glad it was all over. Probably a good thing, the numbness, or he’d be pissed off right now and wanting to beat the shit out of either himself or… well, yeah, mostly himself. So, good thing, that.

“Ah- _hem.”_

Han flinched. Yeah, _definitely_ a good thing.

Standing on the opposite end of the shuttle they were aboard, in transit back to the _Tonbay_ , arms crossed and disapproving scowl etched into every atom of his body, his father, Zetosh’Gerrel vas _Tonbay_ , levelled a glower in Han’s direction, impatiently tapping a finger against his tricep. His mother, Shala’Raan, sat between the two of them and looked back and forth helplessly, fingers drumming restlessly on her thigh. “Boys…”

Han heaved a loud, heavy sigh, deliberately making it sound as irritated as he could just to piss his father off. “Oh, what is it _this_ time?”

“You spent however many bleeding years crooning over your supposed leadership abilities,” Zetosh sneered, eyes narrowing beneath his helmet, “and yet how many marines _died_ upon that ship, under _your orders_ , today, boy? How much blood is on your hands?” Then he sniffed, thumping a shoulder back against the wall of the shuttle. “Though I’m hardly surprised. It was bound to happen, now wasn’t it?”

“Zetosh,” Raan warned, but his father cut her off, venom in his voice.

“After all,” he all but snarled, “you’ve never actually been worth a damn at all, have you? You and your ‘bipolar’ and your ‘ADHD’. You should’ve never been put in charge of a _filtering slat_ , let alone a navy.”

Han stared blankly. Distantly, he could hear the shuttle pilot _hmm_ and tut disapprovingly under her breath, and his mother’s eyes were wide and round as relay cores, hands tightly clenched into fists in her lap. Then he tilted his head and said, voice sickly sweet, “Oh my, why didn’t you tell me? I’ll go right back to the _Neema_ and tell them they need to pick a new captain right away, and a new admiral, while they’re at it. Oh, and they’d better get rid of Xala and Todor and Zaemin and Lia and Rael and Xen, too, shouldn’t they?” The numbness started to fade, replaced by burning, scalding _fury_ boiling in the pit of his stomach. “I mean, none of them are _normal_ either, so they’d better go, too! Who _cares_ that they’re popular with the crews! Who _cares_ that they’re _brilliant fucking people_ , hey? They’re not _normal_ , so they’re _bad_ and _evil_ and _useless_ just like my _bloody fucking father_ is!”

“Han—”

Zetosh flapped his hand at her. “Let _the boy_ talk, Shala,” he bit, and Han could already picture how his lips would curl back and his fangs would flash and his eyes would go all sharp and cold. “Let him dig his own damn grave, disrespecting his father like that.”

Han wasn’t sure when he got to his feet, but his head swam from the sudden blood rush. “Oh, dig a grave, will I? Dig a _grave_ , save my _darling_ father the trouble? If I dig a bloody _grave_ , it’s not about to be _mine_ , you barmy old ligger-”

His father stood up too, and he almost wished for the mania, for the wild lightning of impulsivity and unbridled energy. _No, better this way_ , the depression murmured in the back of his mind. _We have control. The other way is too dangerous. This will keep us on top. This will work in our favor. We have control._

Zetosh was yelling, yelling, still yelling. For once, he was glad his auditory processing didn’t work worth a damn. He could catch words- useless, thankless, worthless, brainless, more. They were bad words, he knew, but nothing processed, nothing made it through the thick, protective haze of depression and a malfunctioning auditory cortex. He was being insulted, and condescended to, and-

Oh.

Well, now, _that_ was over the line.

He bridled, running his tongue over his lips as he drew himself up. “ _What_ did you just call me?”

He could hear the sneer in Zetosh’s voice as his father triumphantly folded his arms with a snicker. “Oh, so the deaf _can_ hear sometimes!”

Infuriated, he sucked in a breath, started to speak-

-and then snapped his jaws shut in surprise as a loud _crack!_ rang through the shuttle, followed by a yelp, a clatter, and a clang as his father hit the wall behind him and fell to the floor. Moments too slow, as always, Han’s brain cheerfully informed him he’d missed his mother getting between them and backhanding Zetosh with more power than he would have thought possible from her wiry frame. She had her back to him now, but her aggressive stance reminded him all too well of the few times he’d invoked her ire as a child. “Zetosh’Gerrel vas _Tonbay_ nar _Aerata_ ,” she said with more venom than Han had ever known her to be capable of, practically spitting the words from between teeth he was sure were clamped tight, “how _dare_ you.”

Zetosh sputtered, hand clamped to the side of his helmet where the offended cheek would be, then spat back, “How dare _you_ —!?”

“How _dare_ you speak to my child in such a way,” she interrupted, lowering her hand to her side, fists clenching and unclenching just like Han’s had been only moments before. “How _dare_ you.”

“I—”

“Be _silent._ ” Han hissed a breath in through his teeth at the pure, unadulterated _hatred_ in his normally-meek mother’s voice, and Zetosh shut up.

His mother glowered at Zetosh for a long moment, practically trying to burn a hole through his head and into the shuttle wall behind him, then spun on her heel and stormed to the cockpit. “Change destination, please. To the _Qwib-Qwib_.”

The shuttle pilot answered the affirmative and Han blinked rapidly. “The _Qwib-Qwib?_ What in the bloody hell are we going _there_ for?”

“To drop off a package,” Raan said simply, voice now devoid of all emotion and sending chills running up and down Han’s spine. “Zaal’Koris will better know how to handle such a thing as he, anyway. He does put up with them on a daily basis.”

_Ouch._ Han couldn’t help but snicker at the slump of his father’s shoulders, privately reveling in the shame he had to be feeling and the pride he himself felt in his mother. He planted a hand on her shoulder and dragged her into a hug, teasingly saying, “Aw, Mum, I _knew_ you had a spine in there somewhere!”

Raan tensed, then chuckled weakly and returned the gesture. “I may have had to borrow yours, Han, I couldn’t quite find mine. It’s been quite a long time since I’ve used it, after all.”

“Aha! _And_ a sense of humor!” Han grinned broadly. “Xala owes me fifty credits!”

“Please tell me that isn’t an actual bet you have.”

“Nah.” His grin grew. “Not with Xala. Rael, actually. Betcha didn’t see that coming, hey?”

She rolled her eyes. “I suspected.”

“Hey, you’re catching on, good for you!”

* * *

 

“Admiral Han’Gerrel vas _Neema,_ why, pray tell, are you requesting access to my ship?

Koris had made certain to emphasize Han’s ship name, standing in the airlock with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed in what Han suspected had to be a rather distasteful (and likely rightfully suspicious, considering the fact that he’d decked the guy in the gut immediately following the conclusion of Tali’s trial not a few hours ago) scowl. Too bad the man _scowled_ so much and never _smiled;_ he would be grudgingly pretty if it weren’t for all the lines around his mouth and eyes. Barely past forty and already had as much age in his eyes as Todor did. Was it something about anxious guys from the Civ fleet? Something in the water, perhaps?

Whatever, he wasn’t here to debate Koris’s attractiveness or lack thereof. He folded his arms and grinned, chuckling internally at the way Koris immediately rolled his eyes. “Well you _see_ , Admiral of the Civvies, me and Mum have a favor to ask.”

“And why in the ancestors’ names would I do a favor for _you_ , Han’Gerrel?”

“’cuz _Mum’s_ the one who’s asking.”

Raan chose that moment to emerge from the shuttle behind him, and Han couldn’t help a quiet snicker at how Koris’s posture immediately improved, all traces of reluctance and scorn vanishing from his expression behind the mask. “Good afternoon, Zaal.” Oh, the kid still flinched when people called him by his first name, good to know. “I’m afraid I’ve a favor to ask, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“That depends on the favor you intend to ask,” Koris cautiously replied. Then his gaze shifted from dancing between Han and Raan to somewhere behind them, and he went rigid.

Raan merely sighed and nodded. “I need to ask you to facilitate a transfer. Without consent, unfortunately.”

Koris was silent for a long moment. Then he asked, in a surprisingly diplomatic tone, “Might I ask the circumstances? Nonconsensual transfers are, ah… well, you’re well aware of the inlying issues with those, of course. It must be rather important.”

“He’s Han’s father, and he’s an unrepentant chronic asshole,” Raan bluntly stated, and Han and Koris and Zetosh all choked and reacted at the same time.

“Ancestors, mum! Where’s that bloody swear jar?” _“Shala!”_ “Oh, _Keelah,_ ma’am, there are children present!”

“Well, it’s true!” She started ticking off on her fingers. “He’s treated Han badly since the poor boy was born, he’s constantly insisting that mental illness doesn’t truly exist and should not stop him from functioning how he considers ‘normally’, he’s rude, he’s brutish, he’s constantly trying to shut me down and deprive both me and Han of agency, he’s a damn close-minded conservative belligerent _moron_ who wouldn’t know diplomacy if it slapped him in the face—I could go on!” She threw up her arms in exasperation. “You, of all people, Zaal, you _know_ the effect mistreatment has on children! You work with abused children on a daily basis, you see it every day! And Han’s been dealing with it for _more than sixty years!_ I won’t let it continue, and I won’t keep living on the same damn ship as him! I should have done this _decades_ ago, and I won’t let it go any longer.”

“I see.” Koris folded his arms again, sending Zetosh an icy glare that surprised even, or perhaps especially, Han with the pure disgust radiating from it. “I think I could arrange that.”

Zetosh took a step towards Koris, likely with the intent to bully him into submission the way he always had with Raan, and Koris took an anxious step back. But before he could take another one, Raan got between them, planted a hand on Zetosh’s sternum, and _pushed._ “Not another step, Zetosh’Gerrel.” Her voice was positively frigid. “Or I will ensure it is your last.”

Han looked between Zetosh, frozen and shaking with fury but blissfully silent, and Raan, burning with tranquil fury, then glanced back to Koris and shrugged. “So, uh, mind if I come with?”

* * *

 

“So, yeah, uh…” Han jerked a thumb back towards the general direction of ‘behind him’ with a dopey grin, now plainly visible thanks to the fact that both he and Koris had removed their helmets after entering Koris’s cluttered little office. “Have I ever mentioned how glad I am that she took _my_ side in all that? I mean, Keelah, I don’t think I’d survive _one_ of her rants, let alone however many _he’s_ heard today. I’m shocked he hasn’t just caught flame and died yet, I mean, honestly.”

Koris _mmm_ ed from where he was kneeling behind his desk, intently rifling through stacks of datapads for, Han presumed, whichever one contained the crew manifest backups for the Civilian Fleet. Why everyone insisted on storing those on datapads, he’d never know. Terminals were ever so much more reliable. Easier to find, too. “I’m rather more surprised she had all that fire _in_ her.”

“You wouldn’t be if you’d grown up on the _Tonbay.”_ Han snorted, taking up a position leaned against the wall beside the desk. “She’s constantly bitching at the kids for—”

“Han’Gerrel, would you _please_ mind your language? This is an educational facility, not a military barracks.”

“Oh, a little cussing here and there ain’t gonna fuck ‘em up _that_ bad.”

“You wouldn’t know, would you, never leaving that dirty old ship of yours.” Han couldn’t tell with the way Koris’s hair was hanging in front of his face, but he might have wrinkled up his nose.

Regardless, Han bristled and stuck his tongue out at the other admiral. “She isn’t dirty, she’s got character! You’re just pissy you’re too much of a sodding _shoda_ to live with the cool kids.”

“Cool kids. Yes, well, you keep thinking that.” Koris sighed and stood, tossing a datapad onto his desk, then took a seat and started tapping away at his terminal. After a long moment, he quietly asked, “Was Zetosh’Gerrel truly as bad as Shala’Raan claimed?”

He snorted. “Worse. Way worse. Kept ragging on me for forgetting I had chores, got fuckin’ pissed when I wasn’t anywhere near good enough with tools to consider engineering, blew right the hell up when I got back and joined the _Neema…_ Damn disaster, ‘s what he was. Never should’ve been a father.” He grunted and added, in a mutter, “Keelah, and you should’ve heard him when he found out I was gay and married a dude…”

“Hmm.”

“Oi, what’s ‘hmm’ mean? ‘Hmm, you’re a liar’ or ‘hmm, I’m a daft ol’ fuckwit who doesn’t know what ‘up’ is’?”

“’Hmm’ as in ‘hmm, I’m trying to find a good place to store someone as difficult as he’ll certainly be, and if you don’t hush, I’m going to assign him to the _Neema_ and lock your roster so he’s _stuck_ there’.”

“Ass.”

“Hooligan.”

“Wow, that the best you got?” Han chuckled. “I hear worse from Son’s kid. No, seriously, kid called me a fart-munching poopoo-head once all ‘cause I stole his seat at storytime. At twelve. He couldn’t think of anything better at _twelve._ Who can’t swear by _twelve_?”

He glanced up to see Koris staring open-mouthed at him and blinked. “What?”

Koris just shook his head and returned to whatever it was he was doing, clicking around and typing occasionally. “I simply cannot believe the things you claim happen onboard your ship. It’s as though someone collected all the galaxy’s worst folktales, fed them to a varren, fed the varren’s fecal matter through a press, and used what came out to make krogan in envirosuits. It’s bizarre and disturbing.”

“Nah, your analogy there’s what was disturbing. How the fuck did you think of that one, hey? The hell’d you _do_ on your Pilgrimage?”

“Learned to deal with, in your words, ‘fuckwits’ like you.”

Han gave a sharp bark of a laugh and pranced forward to clap a hand down on Koris’s shoulder, relishing in his startled yelp and jump. “You swore! I’m telling Mum to put this on the calendar!”

Koris gave him a pained look. Han simply laughed and retreated back to his spot leaning against the wall, shiteating grin lingering on his face. Then he paused and frowned. “Okay, seriously though, the hell are you _doing_ there? Transfers on the _Neema_ run through comms, not by captain’s hand—believe me, I would know, I’ve had to deal with Ashalla whining at me for weeks on end ‘cause she had to run a whole roster’s worth of recruits into the registry for the whole bloody Heavy Fleet—and I know for a fact whatever’s on that datapad wasn’t access codes for your terminal, so what am I missing here?”

Koris didn’t answer at first, simply continuing to type away with an indecipherable frown on his face. Han was just contemplating yelling the question when he finally sighed and deigned to respond, “I was authorizing the transfer, as I said.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, I was.” He motioned him over and towards the terminal’s screen, which did, in fact, show a roster change. “The thing is—”

Han saw it immediately. “That isn’t a Civ ship—Zaal’Koris vas _Qwib-Qwib_ , what the _hell_ did you _do?”_

Koris shrugged. “I moved him to a Special Projects vessel. They’re always in need of volunteer test subjects, and I could think of nowhere better to send him.”

“He ain’t gonna volunteer, mate—”

“—and he doesn’t have to,” Koris interrupted with a smile, tapping a few keys until another screen popped up. “There’s a waiver available, Fleet Admiral access only, to conscript volunteers, willingly or not, during times of duress. Normally they’re only for use during a hypothetical reclamation of Rannoch or a similarly hypothetical breakout of galactic war akin to the Krogan Rebellions, but, well, these are as desperate a circumstance as those, if you ask me.

“Now, unfortunately, the waivers can only be authorized by a Special Projects admiral, which I am obviously _not_ , and seeing as Rael’Zorah is, ah, _indisposed_ , the only one with the authority to send the waiver along would be Daro’Xen. Now, she’s a bit too busy to be signing things that have nothing to do with her experiments, but, luckily for me,” he held up the datapad he’d been digging for, “the records from an inter-fleet supply shipment three weeks ago were still intact and at my disposal, as was, coincidentally, her electronic signature.”

He shrugged and sat back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “From there it was a simple matter of cutting and pasting a few bits of code and fudging details to make it look authentic. No one will question it, especially not when Daro’Xen’s name and electronic fingerprint is on it, because we all are quite aware of how well she takes to interruptions to her work.”

Han was silent for several long minutes, looking from the screen to Koris and back again. Then he lifted a hand and punched Koris hard in the shoulder. “You devious little maw-mite.”

Koris grinned. “I do try.”

* * *

 

“So, basically, Pap there’s gonna be doing some time helping out dear ol’ Xen and maybe Rael with scientific bullshit for a while, and there ain’t nothing he can do about it,” Han finished with a grin, clapping a hand down on his mother’s shoulder. “So now we ain’t never gotta deal with him again. Neat, huh?”

Raan looked disturbed, already frazzled by what had happened earlier in the day and exhausted by the lengthy transits from the _Rayya_ to the _Qwib-Qwib_ to the _Tonbay_ and then back to the _Neema_ with Han, her silvery hair escaping in ragged locks and strands from the usual bun nestled at the nape of her neck. She brushed a few of the offending bits of hair out of her eyes and gave a long, slow, shaky sigh. “Did Zaal’Koris truly do what you say, Han? Is he…?” Her voice broke and she went silent.

Han hesitated, then wrapped his mother up in a tight hug, resting his chin atop her head. “He’s gone, Mum. We don’t have to deal with him ever again. I promise.”

“Keelah se’lai…” Raan made a choked noise and turned her head, burying her face in her son’s shoulder as he calmly stroked her hair. “I should have done this ages ago, I’m so sorry, Han—”

“Nah, don’t be.” He tilted his head down and planted a light kiss where Raan’s hair parted. “It’s done now, anyhow, so no need to be regretting anything.”

“Han…”

“It’s fine, Mum. Rael’s alive, Tali’Zorah’s safe, and Dad’s never gonna touch us ever again. It’ll be fine. We’ll be okay.”


End file.
